Futari
by Aya-kun Rose
Summary: Some drabblelike things about Hughes and Mustang. Either as friends or more. I'll add more whenever I might write another. Chapter titles from the OSTs.
1. Harmony

Harmony

"The piano's got to be the saddest sounding instrument there is," Maes Hughes commented reflectively. His golden eyes were distant as he cradled his stubbled jaw in his hand, fingers folded down against his cheek.

Across the table, Mustang leaned back in his chair, sinking his round chin behind the wide collar of his uniform and folding his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes, listening to the music of which his friend spoke.

The piano player did seem to be in a melancholy place tonight, as everything that floated their way through the smoky air of the bar was something wistful and tragic. There was something undeniably beautiful about it.

"Tonight, I completely agree with you," Roy finally said, sitting back up for his drink.

Hughes pushed his half full glass to the side and crossed his arms on the table, putting his head down on top of them. "Just tonight, eh?" There was a long pause.

"I could listen to this forever. I know it's depressing, and it's actually making me feel sad just to hear it, but I also feel so peaceful right now." Hughes sighed to himself.

"Yeah," Roy nodded. "Yeah, I agree."


	2. Revelation

Revelation

He was pretty sure Roy was talking to him. Like, straight to his face. But he had no idea what the alchemist was saying.

Instead, Hughes found himself irresistibly distracted by Roy's smooth pale skin, his soft silky hair, his dark angry eyes—

Uh-oh.

"—don't just be zoning out on me again, Maes, this is important!" Mustang was saying as Hughes tuned back in.

He calmly lifted a hand and waved away Roy's anger—or made it worse—proud of his own self-restraint. Roy had no idea how close he was to having fingers run through his hair, and if Hughes had given in to the temptation…well, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know where that would have gone.

"Sorry, sorry, start from the beginning?" Hughes leaned in, fully intent on listening this time.

Mustang sighed, exasperated, and Hughes realized how adorable that sound was, also realizing for the first time how he was head over heels for his best friend.


	3. Avenue

A/N: This one is longer 'cause I lifted it out of a scrapped fic that I hate. It was about Hughes grappling with his feelings for Roy, and then Roy goes off to Ishbal. It really sucked. But this part was ok.

* * *

Avenue

Young Hughes and Mustang waited outside the drug store, Havoc having promised to be quick. They stood against the wall of the shop in the fading afternoon light, watching people pass by in the street.

"Remember the first time we went out in our uniforms?" Hughes asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. "We thought we were big shots then, but no one even noticed us as anything special. That took us down a notch, didn't it?" He laughed, knowing it hadn't been that long ago.

"When you wear this uniform in Central, it's almost as if you blend in." Mustang commented, nodding politely at an elderly couple strolling by. "The people in this town are too used to seeing soldiers out on the streets."

Hughes watched the exchange with amusement, leaning back into the wall. "We thought we'd earned instant respect, but really all we got was responsibility. An officer must act as an officer at all times, must represent his country with pride, must blah blah blah. I was expecting notoriety as a soldier, not work. Ahh!" he lamented, "How hard it is to be young and idealistic!"

"I'd say enjoy being that way while it lasts. Although I'd hate to see you ever become bitter and jaded like some of our superiors." Mustang grimaced at the thought of some in particular.

"I'm deciding to take that as a compliment," Hughes said. "But alright, if I ever turn into some cynical, militaristic-minded bastard of a colonel, you come and blaze me until I get my head straight."

"I'm counting on you to knock me around if I ever do something stupid, then."

"Deal," Hughes grinned evilly, pulling his hands out of his pockets to crack his knuckles.

Mustang just eyed him coolly. "You'd better not be thinking of trying anything now," he said, "because I think we both know how that would end."

"Ha! You wouldn't use your fancy alchemy on me! In a plain and simple brawl I'd lay you out in minutes." He gave Mustang's smaller frame a once-over, hoping it looked like a challenge with nothing else implied.

The alchemist's eyes flared competitively. "I think you underestimate me, Hughes." His voice was calm and low, and there was a slight raise in the corner of his mouth to match the gleam in his eye.

Hughes didn't know whether his underestimation referred to Mustang's ability to use alchemy on him, or his ability to fight without it. He'd never seen his friend in an actual fist fight, but he did have the training and a decent build, so maybe he could handle himself. On the other hand, he didn't really want to find out first hand the extent of Mustang's skill with flame, either. Grinning, he stepped out from the wall, anyway.

"There's one thing I must remind you of, though," he said, rolling his shoulders.

"Oh? What's that?" Mustang followed him out onto the broad sidewalk.

"Fighting in the streets is not allowed!" Hughes struck an absurd pose, planting a fist on his hip and waving a scolding finger at Mustang.

He watched gleefully as Mustang's eyes widened in surprise. Then, to his own surprise, Mustang collapsed against the wall, holding his sides with laughter. That was good, he didn't laugh enough to be healthy. Hughes decided he'd definitely be doing more unexpected things in the future.

It was then that Havoc came out of the store with a fresh cigarette already out of the box. "Hey, Roy, could I have a li—" He stopped in shock when he finally saw what was going on.

"What did you do to him?" he asked incredulously.

Hughes shrugged innocently, trying to keep his proud smile to a minimum. He loved that rare open look Mustang had when he laughed, and felt a little light-headed when that look was directed at him. And he couldn't help but be proud of himself: he was the only one who could make Roy Mustang laugh.


	4. Parting

Parting

"You're _what?_" Roy hissed in disbelief.

"I'm not going, I'm taking a desk job and staying in Central." Hughes repeated calmly, though he couldn't bring himself to look directly at his friend.

"How could you not tell me, Maes? I can't believe you'd do something so stupid. We're on the _platform_ for heaven's sake!"

Hughes glanced up, trying to smile behind his glasses. "I didn't want to give you the time to overreact like this."

"I am _not_ overreacting," Mustang said, his voice low, hard to hear over the noise of the train station. "Until this very moment I thought you were coming on this train with me."

Hughes winced. Roy was so angry he'd let his hurt slip out in his voice. This was not going well. "Look, there's nothing I can do about it now—"

But Mustang was shaking his head, leaning to pick up his bags from the ground. When he straightened, he wore an extremely cold expression, entirely foreign to Hughes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again and disappeared into the crowd of servicemen piling onto the train.

Hughes would always remember the first time he saw that face. He didn't know then that when Roy came back from Ishbal, it was all he would ever see.


	5. Loneliness

Loneliness

Hughes slumped into one of the living room chairs, pretending not to hear the torrent of rain outside. The rain kept people indoors. And when people stayed indoors, Maes was left without visitors.

Gracia and Elysia were away visiting with his in-laws. It wasn't that he didn't like the people, on the contrary, they were just as infatuated with their granddaughter as he was. But he was stuck at home with work. Important work that benefited the entire country. Valuable, imperative work that left him painfully alone at home when the day was done.

The silence of the house under the rain was starting to get to him. Maybe it was time to break out his last resort—a stash of extra-special pictures of his beloved family. But just as he thought of it, the doorbell rang. Curious, he rose, partially wishing he had one of those pictures out already to show whoever was there.

He opened the door, and the figure outside quickly brushed in, immediately starting a collection of puddles on the entranceway floor. Hughes' first reaction was to frown at the intrusion.

"I heard they were out of town, I thought you could use the company."

Hughes' expression was forced to stop, reverse, smile. It was Roy.


	6. Fighting Spirit

Fighting Spirit

He saluted smartly, backing out of the spotlight towards the door. His first speech in front of the parliament was over. He had prepared and prepared, and knew that it had gone over smoothly. But on the inside, he was a wreck. He felt the stiffness in his limbs threatening to paralyze him; his scorching body temperature beginning to affect his breathing and vision. He had controlled it, controlled himself, as long as he had to, and now he was pushing through the too-heavy doors, blind in the sudden light of the hall, legs feeling lead while his head was helium.

Roy took three brave steps down the dazzling hallway before giving in and collapsing. Maes was there to catch him when he fell.


	7. Fate

Fate

"Hey, alchemist, mail for you."

Roy looks over at the soldier behind the desk, not surprised, not really interested. He's been finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on feeling emotion. Darker, more ominous thoughts are busy brewing in his mind, slowly creeping out from shadowy corners. He takes the envelope automatically, the crisp cleanness of the paper strange to his tired eyes, but even that novelty is quickly forgotten.

He opens it slowly, where he stands, disregarding the few soldiers milling around the central tent of the barracks. There aren't many familiar faces now, most of the men he'd spent time with—not necessarily bonded with—have already been sent home. That is, the ones that have survived.

Roy feels a flicker of some feeling, anticipation or interest, when he finally registers that the letter in his hands is from Hughes. How strange that his friend would write him when he'll be home soon. But a part of him hopes the letter doesn't contain detailed descriptions of how and where they'll meet and what they'll do the moment Roy arrives in Central. He's not ready for that.

The penmanship is sloppy, the message obviously hastily scrawled—it's so Hughes it hurts. He was excited when he wrote this. Tucked into the folded sheet of paper are three photographs. Two are of a woman Roy has never seen, and the last is a shot of her and Hughes, looking quite proud of himself.

Squinting at the cryptic script, he manages to read it through. Then once more.

He feels like crying, or dying, but he knows he's incapable of mustering the strength for either.

_"Guess what, Roy! I met someone! She's the best thing to ever happen to me, and I mean it. We've only known each other for a short time, but she just said she'd be my girlfriend! Her name is Gracia, and she's just the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen! …."_

The letter goes on, without any mention of reunion plans. Roy knows now he won't see Hughes when he gets back. Not for a long time.


	8. Way Home

Way Home

The first time he'd stood here, he'd cried. He'd blamed it on the rain, but it had been a weak excuse.

The last time he'd cried before that, it had actually been raining. He'd wandered over to Hughes' place--what a long time ago that had been. Rain had poured down his face, mixing with the tears, and Hughes had understood. Wordlessly, his friend had pulled him inside and gently kissed his sorrow away.

But now it was different. Rain still poured down his face, unlike that first day, and mixed with his tears, but as he turned to leave the graveyard, Mustang had nowhere to go but his own empty home.


	9. The Heavens

The Heavens 

"Did you see that? The shooting star?"

"There's no such thing as shooting stars. It's just something burning up in the atmosphere."

"Don't be so logical. I bet you don't even believe in magic."

"There's no such thing as magic."

"That's where you're wrong! You of all people should know better."

"I know better than to believe in magic, if that's what you mean."

"No, alchemy. Alchemy is magic."

"That couldn't be more untrue. Alchemy is rooted in science, logic; it demands an understanding of the elements and molecular structure—"

"Right, right. But alchemy is magic to me."

"That's just because you don't understand. You're not an alchemist."

"You're right, I'm not. I'm just a guy who believes in shooting stars and magic."

"Why don't you make a wish on that shooting star, then? Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Yeah—I already did. You should, and when it comes true, then you'll know what I'm talking about."

"What did you wish?"

"You really don't know anything, do you? I can't tell you. Then for sure it won't come true."

"If it comes true, will you tell me?"

"Sure, but you won't believe me."

"You're probably right."

"Did you do it? Did you wish already?"

"I wished for eternal happiness."

"Hey! You can't just say that out loud! Now there's no chance!"

"Idiot, it didn't have a chance to begin with."


	10. Taboo

Taboo

They stand under the yellow light of the street lamp outside Roy's parent's house, hands shoved deep into pockets in the cold night. Roy leans against the lamppost, Maes against the side of his parents' car. Maes has been away at field training for a month, his first step to becoming an officer. Roy, an alchemist, is exempt.

Maes goes back tomorrow, or maybe by now it's today. He thinks it's funny that he has spent more than half of his first weekend home at Roy's house. Roy smiles when he says it out loud, looking up through his bangs.

As they continue to waste the night talking about nothing, Maes holds back an insanely strong urge to say something else. He's never fought the instinct to spout off the first thing that comes to mind, but tonight he really, really tries.

He knows that he's missed Roy during his month away; he knew before he came that he wanted to spend more time with him than with his own family. But he knows that he's missed Roy to a degree that his friend couldn't possibly understand. He used to be afraid himself, before he understood what he was feeling.

He wants to tell Roy that he likes him, more than just a friend, more than any man should like another man.

But he doesn't. His self-restraint, for maybe the only time in his life, prevails. When it finally gets too cold, he crosses to the driver's side, gets in, and pulls away. It will be another month before he visits again.


	11. Rewrite

Rewrite

Gracia had given him the letter a few weeks after the funeral.

Roy had always hated getting letters from Hughes, mostly because he had only received them back when he was away at war, and he hated anything that had to do with that time of his life. Usually when Hughes wanted to keep in touch, he would use the phone, and Roy wasn't entirely sure he hated that.

She hadn't opened it, she had said. Just that she had found it jammed down behind a drawer in his desk while cleaning it out—she had to pause a moment to control the tears—and since it was addressed to him, she thought she'd bring it over.

The letter was surprisingly short, and strangely old. It read like this:

_Roy, I'm just going to get to the heart of the matter. But before I do, I just want you to know that I feel horrible for not telling you in person, and horrible for not telling you sooner, and horrible for telling you, and horrible for not being there with you, and horrible for all the reasons why I might never being with you again._

_You see, Roy, I love you._

_I don't really have a follow-up to that, sorry. I just want you to know that I mean it—yes, I mean it in that really uncomfortable way. If you can understand, I felt like a liar before, like the worst friend in the world, for feeling like this. And now I just feel like I never should have started this letter._

He had thought to share his feelings and wrote the letter, changed his mind and stopped, changed it again and prepared the envelope, then finally decided not to send it after all and stuffed it into the back of his desk.

Roy found himself simultaneously wishing that the letter had never been found, that Hughes was there right now, that he had known before it was too late.

In a snap of fingers that he might or might not regret later, the letter was gone.


End file.
